she wants to lose 5 english pounds

I want to lose me

she makes a picnic

I graze my knees

Do not disturb

am looking at the sky

How do you do that. Write the same trick over and over and over again when surely your brain screams and your imagination weeps every time another something else falls into your beige carpet.

following wet footprints all through my house

holding my breath

listening to rice

talking to your polaroid

games are played by the weak
mirrors and smoke
to hide the fears they choke on

Tonight

I’d like to paint bats on your hips

and write words down your spine

is that alright

is that alright now

with you?

I’ve decided to hide under the electric blanket until the calender on the wall says wednesday

I try to write about my day in A TRADITIONAL ONLINE DIARY STYLE OFTEN REFERRED TO AS BLOGGING, but every time I sit at my leatherette chair and begin to write in such a manner, nausea fills the room and I contemplate death by pistol.  And so I stop, light another cigarette, and paint the door a little whiter than before .

I don’t believe in catholics

plasma screens lie

I never wished upon a star - they are too far away

there is no such thing as the wrong direction

what does dirty mean?

Hush.
Shush.
Not a sound.
Ear to the ground.
Listening for sounds.
Sounds that remind me of you.

I sit on my hands and recite the alphabet backwards. Forwards. Watching fireworks illuminate the sky. Trying not to cry.

I hate geography.

Tell me this will be over soon.

I don’t think I should read it anymore

Tagged

1. pick up the nearest book.

A lover’s discourse by Roland Barthes

2. open to page 123.

gene / embarrassed

3. Find the fifth sentence

(there is no fifth sentence - so I have written the fifth line)

as in a silent movie. There is generated in me (a contradiction in terms) a kind of alert fascination: I am nailed to the scene and yet very wide awake; my attention constitutes a part of what is being acted out, nothing is eternal to the scene, and yet I read it: there are no footlights - this is an extreme theater.

I have no one to tag

the end

intense
complicated
weird

every word I do not write
is about you

everything else is just me
dancing with the alphabet

do you wanna get burned

do you wanna get turned

do you wanna get

inside out

Sticks and stones

are what children throw

You must never shout at the concrete

You must always shout at the stars

Concrete can’t hear you

72 moles
36 bottles of red wine
2 trips to Mexico
8 debates about Bonnie and Clyde
4 taxi rides
9 doughnuts
2 stolen jacket potatoes
3 seconds spent staring at Big Ben
54 videos watched
11 videos made
1 hot pocket

an image should capture an emotion, a desire, a venerability

not a perfectly lit tree or a good christian wife’s wedding pose

crushed velvet backdrops mean nothing to me

I explain to the man fixing the photo booth

I’m working full time now, down the local zoo. Every day the crowds gather and stare at me for six pound an hour.

I just smile at them and think of you.

Tell me this will be over soon.

I remember thinking, as I drowned in the fear of everything, that only cats in a bag could understand how I feel.